Thirty

A milestone collected in my jar of precious minerals, here I stand on this rock rising above these ferocious waters. This day I turn. This day I wake up to finalize some details, tie my shoe laces twice, forget the sports bottle and eat my vitamins with my special k breakfast. This day, the same day of usuals. Pissy clients, insecure dogs, the usual losers with a knife wound.

I was asked what I wanted for this day. I had not thought about it, but towards the end of the evening, while mucking around with the new iMac G5, it occured to me that the bluetooth mouse in my hand would be a nice vain addition. But I hate the fact that there's no scroll wheel. Apparently, there are alternatives out there. Do I want to be a blind purist? After all, in my G3 wallstreet days, I had the choice between an apple pro optical mouse or a microsoft 5-button optical mouse with scroll wheel. I chose to commit IT adultery and rendezvous-ed with the 5 button monster. To date, it is still trusty, except sometimes it goes into a fit and starts to go mad on the scroll wheel. So now is time to fix the pointer. Some pictures would help.


the original from apple...


an alternative with scroll wheel, still quite loyal in design... macmice BT


the alternative with works!

If you ask me, I prefer the macmice BT.

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The celebration started some weeks ago in chinatown when some of my mates - peers who grew up with me, threw a small dinner reunion for the two boys going on thirty. Sunny and me have been great friends since we were geeky new born agains. We both received shirts - mine for winter and his for the everlong summer. We had a laugh, till some conspiracy theory overtook the conversations. The potential was just tipping in the scales.

How does it feel? This constant first run of a question stares point blank at me and i don't really have an answer. It's like when you turn the golden 21st century egg, how did you feel? If it was elation and absolute freedom, this was a form of liberation with a heavy burden. Dreams of retirement draws close and achieving goals becoming not just a wishful poem.

Someone quietly laughed at the coveted award goal. I will prove wrong those who chose to believe mediocrity. Even if anger drives me, I'd rather quench on that fuel than lie on my bed feeding the statistics that these books seemingly failed to revive.

So what's it like? You have absolutely no fuken idea.